Sometimes We Fall
by Feyna
Summary: In which two little colonies learn exactly why they shouldn't climb trees, England makes a grievous mistake, and Canada pays the price for it. In the end, the experience leaves all of them with the greatest lesson to learn: how to get up and mend the broken pieces together. (Pre-Revolutionary War; ACE Family)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes** **:** I truly missed writing genfics, so I'm back with another short, fluffy story focusing on the ACE family, this time set while both America and Canada are still colonies.

I hope you'll enjoy this! And please review :)

 **Disclaimer : **Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, and so does the cover picture. I don't get any profit from writing this.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

The tree stood in front of the small colony, tall and majestic. The wide trunk told about all the winters it had withstood, and the ample branches gently descended until they almost touched the ground.

Perched upon one of those branches was the origin of Canada's woes, with his small legs carelessly dangling and his incredibly blue eyes bright with mirth.

"Come on Mattie, Follow me! It's easy, see?"

To offer a proof of his words, America's small hands grasped a higher branch as his body tensed. Canada's heart missed a beat – but his brother safely hoisted himself up before turning back to Canada, his lips curled into a confident smile.

"Mattie, come on!"

Canada pouted, his forehead furrowing as he wrung his small hands.

"But… Mr England said we shouldn't try to climb this tree, it's too big for us and it's not safe!" he protested, hating himself for how shaky and small his voice came out. America was never going to be swayed by something like that.

Predictably, America rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated puff.

"Your point? Artie's such a worrywart, he never lets us do anything… If it were for him, we'd be just stuck inside the house drawing or reading. Bo—ring! And he can't even see us now, he fell asleep because he's an old man!"

Canada bit his lower lip, uneasiness blossoming across his stomach at America's words and attitude. So much was wrong that he didn't even know where to start: first of all, England wasn't asleep because he was an old man. England had fallen asleep because he had withstood a long and exhausting journey only to be able to visit America and Canada. He had even played with them the entire morning, but for how much he was smiling, Canada had noticed the violet shadows under England's eyes, his pale and drawn skin. England deserved his rest… and seeing America disrespect him that way brought a sour taste to Canada's mouth. Couldn't his brother see how much England was doing for them? How disrespectful he was being, in belittling their older brother's tender concern the way he did?

The fact that England clearly favoured America made the anger boil hotter in Canada's chest. Why did his brother, who had everything, have to dismiss it that way? Canada wanted to yell at America until his brother opened his eyes and realized how blessed he was.

But in the end, as usual, the words died in Canada's throat in front of his brother's determined features. There was no way that Canada, small, meek Canada, could compete with America's boldness and vitality.

"If Mr England says that we shouldn't climb this tree, there is a reason," he said instead, his words so feeble that they barely carried over to America.

His brother heard them, however, and his features hardened in annoyance.

"You're such a bore, Mattie. Why do you have to be such a goody-two-shoes? It doesn't make you much fun to be around, y'know."

The remark stung, making Canada recoil, for he was aware of the shred of truth in America's words: Canada obeyed rules because it was the right thing to do, but… there was a small part of him, usually carefully repressed, holding onto the minute seed of hope that England would one day acknowledge his good behaviour. Canada didn't demand his caretaker's undivided attention, but one more smile or a moment tailored just for him even if America was present as well would have been the greatest gift Canada could ask for.

Oblivious to his brother's distress, America stretched on the branch and went on talking, a playful glint glimmering in his eyes.

"Or is it because you're scared? Are you a wimp, Mattie?"

"I'm not!" Canada bristled, clenching his hands into fists as he stiffened.

The only answer was a mocking laugh from America.

"Oh, but you are!" the child declared with a sing-song cadence, climbing a couple of branches higher. "Wimpy Mattie, wimpy Mattie… Mattie's a little wimp!"

The words made Canada's stomach twist, gathering hot tears at the corners of his eyes.

"Stop it!" he pleaded, his voice so weak and feeble that it hardly carried over the gentle wind.

America either didn't hear or pretended he hadn't, going on with his stupid rhyme as he climbed higher, swift and confident.

And maybe he _was_ right, Canada found himself thinking: looking at America, climbing the tree seemed easy enough. Maybe England was a bit exaggerated in his protectiveness, after all, he didn't see America and Canada that often, he didn't know what they were capable of…

Besides, there was another issue on which America was completely right, for how even admitting it felt like something was squeezing Canada's chest: no matter how hard he tried, Canada wasn't going to gather England's attention. He could behave perfectly, learn to read and write and recite poetry just like England wanted, but England was never going to regard him with that soft, adoring gaze he reserved to America. No matter what, Canada was always going to be a second thought to England, a faint shadow of his brother.

America, instead, was usually willing enough to play with Canada – but he would stop, if he thought Canada was boring. So, at that moment, Canada was at a crossroad: he could keep obeying England in the faint and unlikely hope of gaining his affection, and lose his only playmate aside from Kumajiro in the process, or he could disobey England and follow America up the tree.

Canada cast a timid glance behind his shoulders, towards the direction their house lay, blocked from his view by the thick vegetation. England was probably still asleep, he had been so worn out, he wouldn't know anything…

Canada's stomach coiled at the thought of disobeying his older brother, but when he glanced at America's frame, getting higher and higher as he went nimbly from branch to branch, the child had taken his decision.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm down the trepidation clawing at his insides and his hammering heart, Canada placed his small hands over the branch, feeling the rough bark. He closed his eyes for a moment as he gathered courage, then he hoisted himself up.

It wasn't the first tree Canada climbed, he had just never tackled such a big one, but he was surprised to realize that there wasn't much difference: the branches were strong, easily supporting his weight, and they were dense enough for him to seamlessly move from one to another.

It wasn't long before Canada reached America, and the beaming smile his brother offered him loosened the tension.

"You came! I knew you weren't truly wimp, Mattie!"

Canada's only answer was a faint smile, but the sight of America's sparkling eyes was enough to banish even the last flickers of doubt. Together, the two boys kept climbing higher and higher, following the thinning branches.

"Alfie, maybe we should stop now…" Canada tried once, his stomach lurching as a glance down revealed how far they were from the ground, but his brother laughed off the suggestion.

Canada swallowed down the uneasiness with a shake of his head – after all, he had already decided to disobey England, the best he could do was to carry it out to the end.

The two colonies finally stopped when the branches started creaking ominously under their weight, suggesting that going any higher wouldn't have been wise.

"Look here, Mattie," America said as he sprawled comfortably on his belly over a broad branch. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Canada tried to imitate his brother, relaxing his body. They weren't at the top of the tree yet, but glimpses of bright blue sky could be seen through the green leaves. Looking down, instead, Canada was surprised to see an ample glimpse of the woods. His head spun at the realization of how high he was – he didn't think he had ever been so high over the ground – but, after the first moment, it brought a strange sense of elation that finally made the grip on his chest loosen.

A glance at the house, barely visible through the trees, brought a small pang of guilt at the thought of having disobeyed England, but it was quickly smothered when America offered Canada a conspiratorial glance. After all, England was never going to know. Maybe, America was right, Canada was just too rigid for his own good… Slowly, the child let his body relax and returned a timid smile of his own.

The two colonies spent the following hours lazily spread over the branches, chatting and looking at the birds that rose in the clear sky. It was beautiful, Canada had to admit, a bubble of tranquillity that seemed completely separated from the outer world. Almost magical.

A big part of the afternoon had already passed by when a clap of America's hands jerked Canada out of his dazed state of mind.

"That's it! It was fun while it lasted, but I'm hungry now! Let's go back and wake up Arthur, he'll cook something for us!"

Canada grimaced at the thought of England's food, his stomach turning – but he was never going to admit how much it didn't appeal to his taste. After all, England could have just delegated the cooking to another person, instead, when he visited his colonies he always insisted on taking care of everything on his own, as if to make up for the lost time. Canada certainly did appreciate his intentions, regardless of the outcome.

"All right…" he muttered, turning to his brother only to find him already a few branches down, moving swiftly.

"M—maybe you should be careful?" Canada cautioned, his forehead furrowing as he started lowering himself down, extending his small feet to reach a lower branch.

America laughed as he climbed down quickly, almost jumping.

"Back to the worry-wart, Mattie? Come on, it's easy! Don't be a wimp, just follow me!"

America made the entire process sound easy, but Canada found himself not agreeing. While climbing up hadn't demanded a great effort, the bark now felt slippery under his feet, unsafe. The fact that the child could clearly see just how far the ground was didn't help, making his stomach coil with tension. It wasn't long before America distanced his brother, his high-pitched laughter echoing through the leaves.

"Come on, Mattie! What are you waiting for?"

Canada wanted to retort against America, his heart missed a beat every time he saw his brother move so carelessly, but America's features tightened in impatience as he looked up at him.

"Mattie, stop being a bore, you're taking forever!"

Canada sank his teeth into his lower lip to avoid retorting, his stomach twisting with uneasiness. He wanted to tell America that he was being reckless, that he was going to get hurt – but he knew that his brother wouldn't listen to him, and the cold, annoyed glance the other colony sent him made Canada's chest grow tight. The last thing he wanted was to peeve America, his sole playing companion.

"Don't look down, it's easier if you don't," America added then, in a kinder voice.

Trying to ignore the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and the way his hands felt sticky and slippery, Canada resolutely quickened the pace, trying to focus his attention only on the most immediate action instead of the ground. The trick seemed to work, slowing down Canada's heartbeat as a bit of tension was finally washed away from his tense body.

"Yeah, that's it! You're doing great!" America cheered from somewhere among the leaves.

Canada finally allowed his lips to curl into a small smile as he looked down, searching for his brother's face. Exactly at the same moment, his feet hit a branch sideways, not where it was supposed to, and immediately slipped down into the void. A wave of pure panic washed over Canada as his arms flailed, desperately trying to reach for a support. For a moment, his fingers brushed against the bark – but the branch was too wide for Canada's small hand to get a strong grip.

The child's eyes widened as gravity took hold of his body, depriving him of any support. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he plummeted down, the small branches whipping his body barely registered in his's brain as sudden sparks of pain. His arms desperately extended forward, but nothing was stable enough to stop his fall, not even the branches his body hit in its journey.

"MATTIE!"

Canada automatically turned his head towards his brother's shrill voice, catching a glimpse of his wide, panicked blue eyes. A moment later, Canada's body slammed against the unforgiving ground, making the worst pain the child had ever experienced burst in his left shoulder in an explosion of white agony.

Somewhere above the ringing in his ears, Canada heard America's voice call his name in a panicked, pleading intonation, then he faintly registered America's pain on his own knees as his brother tumbled to the ground in his rush to get down, but he couldn't answer, nor could he utter a single sound when America's desperate cries rose to the sky, his chest tight and his consciousness eaten by the agony that had spread to his entire body.

* * *

England jerked awake with a gasp, almost falling out of the rocking chair in a convulsed movement. His clouded brain took a moment to get accustomed to the situation and realize that the wooden patio surrounding him belonged to his house in the New World.

England rose to his feet, his eyes scanning around as he tried to give a name to the unpleasant hollow feeling at the pit of his stomach.

 _Something is wrong._

"Alfred? Matthew?" he called, the uneasiness stubbornly refusing to leave him.

The only answer was the ruffling of the leaves in the wind.

 _Damn. Where did those two little pests run off to?_

The mere thought made England's stomach twist, letting him understand that his intuition was right: something had happened to his little colonies – who weren't in the house.

And if he didn't find them…

With his chest heavy with dread, England quickly strode into the woods America and Canada were so fond of.

"Alfred? Matthew?" he kept calling as he made his way through the vegetation, his mind running over all the possible scenarios as the uneasiness grew with each passing moment – had somebody attacked the children?

 _'Somebody's hurt,'_ a malicious yet confident voice whispered inside England's brain.

The thought flooded his mind with horror. While immortal, America and Canada were just colonies, and still very young ones, too. They weren't as strong as a full grown-nation and they wouldn't heal as fast – but that wasn't the only reason England's stomach was unpleasantly knotted. America and Canada were still so young… the mere thought of them experiencing any kind of pain brought a sour taste to his mouth.

Swallowing to bring relief to his painfully dry throat, England kept trudging on, calling his colonies' names as loud as he could.

No voice ever answered him – but England suddenly halted in his steps as his ears caught a faint sound.

 _Is that…_

England's legs automatically spurred back into motion, anguish surging in his chest at the realization of what the sound was: a child's wail.

"Alfred, Matthew, wait right where you are! I'm coming!" he cried unnecessarily, breaking into a run.

With single-minded determination, England moved towards the source of the sound, mentally cursing the vegetation that grasped his clothes as if trying to hold him back. His heart was hammering in his chest, threatening to explode, and the fear swallowing any rational thought was only amplified as the desperation-filled cries rose louder and louder as England got closer.

It was with a sudden lurch of his stomach that England identified the voice as America's.

"Alfred!" he couldn't help but cry out, even if a corner of his brain rebuked that the colony wasn't probably going to hear him and he should instead use his breath to run faster – but any rational thought was gone at that point, all England could focus on was the utter desperation seeping through those heart-wrenching cries, his heart shattered at the thought of America, alone, hurt, and scared.

England couldn't take it.

Finally, when the cries had risen to a volume that was almost unbearable, England burst through the bushes to find himself in front a big tree, barely registering its presence as his eyes focused on the small figures huddled in front of it.

Just like in England's worst fears, America was bawling, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. England's heart constricted painfully as he took in the agonized expression warping the child's soft features. His eyes frantically scanned him for injuries. All England could see was that America's knees were skinned raw, but the child was clutching his shoulder, that had probably taken the brunt of the hit.

"Alfred!" England cried out as stopped right in front of the child, his hands hovering over him.

"Oh, poppet, what happened here? How badly are you hurt?"

Predictably, America's cries didn't slow down – he was probably in too much pain for an answer. England's hands were trembling, his head spinning from the scare, but panic wasn't something he could afford. He took a deep breath to force rationality to take control of his mind again and tried to scan over America more efficiently.

Having failed to detect any life-threatening injury, England lifted the child in his arms, doing his best to jostle him as little as he could and with his heart weeping with the knowledge that if America was badly hurt, no gentleness was going to spare him from the pain.

"It's all right, poppet," he said anyway, trying to sound soothing but unable to hide the trembling in his voice. "It's all right. I'm here now, I'll take you home and I'll fix you up. It's going to be all right."

England would have wanted to run, but he gritted his teeth and forced his gait to be steady and confident, forcefully reminding himself that some more minutes of wait weren't going to worsen America's condition, but being jostled in a hurry would increase his pain. The child was still sobbing, the desperation and fear in his tears stabbing England's chest like scorching knives.

Only when a white form sprang up from the bushes and flashed past England, almost brushing his leg in the process, he was suddenly reminded of the second person who had been present on the scene.

"Matthew!" England called, turning his head.

Even at a brief check, the second colony had been traumatized by witnessing his brother's injury. His ashen face was slack, his lilac eyes dazed. Considering that Canada had already lived through an entire war, England would have expected him to have a bit more of resistance – but maybe, seeing his brother hurt in what should have been a safe environment was a different matter. Either way, that was a concern England would have to deal with in a second moment.

"Matthew, come on, follow me. Alfred is going to be all right, I promise, but he needs some medical attention, I have to bring him home."

There wasn't any answer. When England shot a look behind his shoulders some moments later, no small colony had followed him.

 _Oh, bugger._

His chest constricted at the thought of how scared Canada had to be, but he didn't have time to worry about that, America's injuries were far too urgent.

England swiftly walked back to the wooden house, mindful of any misstep and murmuring words of comfort at the same time. By the time England crossed the door, America's tears had thankfully slowed down and his features had softened, but he had yet to talk.

"See, poppet? We're home, it's going to be all right now," England murmured, placing a gentle kiss on America's hair as his eyes swept over the room, trying to locate his medical supplies.

Luck was on his side: having almost being assaulted by America upon his arrival, England hadn't had the time to unpack yet, and his medicine chest had been abandoned by the door along with the rest of the luggage.

England deposited America sitting on the big table in the middle of the living room before retrieving everything he needed, almost running in his effort to speed up the process. Tension clawed at his insides, the blood pounded in England's ears as he tried to look more closely to America's form, sick with anticipation. He had had to clean scratches and skinned knees before, and America had always reacted with loud cries and fat tears to his ministrations. Now that he was seriously injured, it was going to be even worse.

But America was finally starting to blink his eyes open, his sobs reduced to sniffling. England couldn't show himself scared to him.

"Artie?" the child mewled in a small voice that stabbed England's heart.

He forced his frozen lips to curl into what he hoped to be a tender smile.

"I'm here, poppet. Now we'll get you looked at, all right? You're going to be fine."

America blinked owlishly, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"It hurts. So, so bad."

America's voice had never sounded so small and vulnerable, it was like the lively child England was so used to had been wiped away by the injury. England's stomach turned at the _wrongness_ of the entire situation.

"I know, pet," he murmured soothingly, his eyes focusing on America's left shoulder, that the child was still clutching. "Now, let me have a look, all right?"

Much to his surprise, America simply lowered his hand in response to England's hesitantly prying fingers.

"Mattie?" he murmured in a shaky voice, tears still welling at the corners of his crimson-rimmed eyes.

"He's going to come in when he feels to, love," England answered absent-mindedly as he neared a pair of scissors to America's tunic.

Before the child could get scared at the sight of steel, England tore the fabric off to expose the injured shoulder. His eyes widened, his fingers stilling over America's unblemished, soft skin. The uniform golden tan didn't show any injury, not even a single hint of blossoming redness.

England blinked, but the sight in front of him didn't change. He hesitantly pressed a finger to America's soft skin, and the child didn't show any reaction. There was no mistaking it: America's shoulder was completely healthy.

 _How… Could he have healed so quickly?_

The thought that had suddenly sparked in England's mind was completely absurd, yet, he couldn't stop lingering on it. After all, America had already shown an abnormal strength, could his healing rate be the same?

 _No, this is ridiculous. It might be a bit faster than normal, but this is just too much. Not even I would heal this quickly..._

With his eyebrows high in confusion, England focused back on America's reddened face.

"Alfred, love? Where does it hurt?"

America sniffled, a pout twisting his lips.

"Shoulder. And knees, but the shoulder hurts more…" The child let his voice trail off.

America's knees were quite badly skinned, England could see it, but his shoulder was undeniably healthy. Yet, he had been wailing so much when England had found him…

 _From the scare, maybe._

Now that the haze of panic was finally receding from his mind, England could reconstruct a possible dynamic of the accident: given the position, America had probably fallen out of the tree – if England wasn't mistaken, that tree was too big for his small colonies to attempt climbing, its apparently safe branches treacherous because they were too big for their hands, as slippery as they were sturdy.

 _'Of course, I tell him not to climb a tree and the exact second I turn my back, there he is. I honestly don't know what I had been expecting.'_

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath, smothering down the irritation that was rising in his chest. There would be time for reproaches later, America was still hurt, even if not as badly as England had initially feared.

"And this is why I tell you not to climb trees," he couldn't help but comment as he bent closer to have a look at America's knees, a wave of exhaustion washing over him.

He didn't know what the deal with the child's shoulder was, but he would worry about it after tending to the injuries he was sure of.

"But Mattie!" America protested, an odd hint of desperation in his voice.

England took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way the lingering after-effects of the panic were turning into anger.

"Don't push the blame on your brother, Alfred. Whether he followed you up the tree or not, I'm quite sure he was _not_ the one who started this. And you must have given him such as scare, as well…"

After a glance at America's still wide, too bright eyes and his trembling lips, England's rage simmered down.

"But never mind this. Let's have a look at your knees, then we can go back to retrieve Matthew, all right?"

America gave a violent shake of his head, another broken sob bubbled up his throat. His eyes were wide in desperation when they focused on England's ones.

"No! Mattie… Mattie's the one who fell! And he's hurt! I… my shoulder is not really hurt, but Mattie's is! He's so, so much hurt, and he's scared, he thinks we have left him behind!"

The blood ran cold in England's veins, he felt like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. His mind ran back to Canada's pasty face, to his dazed eyes. To how he hadn't followed him.

"N—no," he stammered, his head spinning with the dread that was pressing down on him.

America's impossibly blue eyes seemed to be looking right through him, confident in spite of their unnatural shine and the tears that were again pooling at the corners. His words made old memories stir in England's mind.

 _"He's so precious, Angleterre,"_ France had told him a lifetime before, gloating about his acquisition of Canada. _"The sweetest child… just like Amerique. I'm sure they're twins, you know."_

At the time, England had retorted that they couldn't know it, there wasn't such thing as twins for nations, even if America and Canada were the same age in human terms.

But, if America and Canada were actually twins…

 _Twin-sense,_ people whispered sometimes, afraid of the connotation such a term carried. England knew enough about witchcraft to say with certainty that most of it wasn't just superstition.

The realization of what he had just done washed over England with the weight of a stone, constricting his lungs and making bile rise to the back of his throat. America's limpid eyes staring right at him spelt out all his faults.

* * *

Canada couldn't understand what was happening. All he could focus was the horrible pain pulsing deeply in his left shoulder and making his head spin and his stomach churn, immobilizing him – it hurt almost as bad as the memory of England walking away after turning his back to Canada.

Canada didn't understand, but the anguish was clawing at his chest. America had been crying because he had felt Canada's pain and he had been scared, but he wasn't too badly hurt, he had just skinned his knees… Then, why? Why had England been so tender with America, only to leave Canada behind?

"Get up," Kumajiro said, rubbing his nose against his owner's knees. "I know it hurts, but you can't stay here! You have to get up. You have to take shelter somewhere, then you'll heal. But it's going to rain tonight, you cannot stay here!"

Canada didn't acknowledge Kumajiro's words, but another pang of pain gripped his chest at the implication: Canada didn't want to move because he was in too much pain, but he had to get up on his own because England wasn't coming back for him.

 _'It's not true,'_ a small voice pleaded in Canada's mind, _'He will come back for me. Just like he did in Montreal when I was so sick and he came and stayed with me until I was healed.'_

But Montreal had been different: there hadn't been Alfred, in Montreal. And if America was there, Canada faded to nothing in England's eyes.

England wasn't going to come back for him.

 **(word count: 4,760)**

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

It's a headcanon of mine that, before America grew up faster, America and Canada used to be twins – and, as such, they shared a twin-bond that was strengthened after they both fell under England's domination, allowing them to feel each other's strong emotions and pain. I also think that the link became fainter and fainter (and eventually almost disappeared) as America started growing up faster and eventually gained his independence (both for political reasons and both because I think that America and Canada aren't twins anymore in modern times, with Canada being younger), but it hadn't happened yet in this story.  
Another headcanon incorporated here is that nations can occasionally feel if their colonies are in distress, provided that the personification was born out of the colonization. This is what happened with England and America.

This story was originally born as a piece of dialogue of another fic I'm planning, in which, years later, Alfred explains Arthur exactly what happened. That particular story is too complicated for me to tackle right now, but I keep thinking about this anecdote and thought it could make a story of its own.

This story is almost completely written, I would add small pieces from time to time when I was stuck with the story that is my main project at the moment (so, for the people reading _Chrysalis_ – I know I've been criminally slow with updates lately, but I promise that whatever happens is not influenced by this story) so next chapter shouldn't be late.

I would also like to add that English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes** **:** Thank you so much for the support, your comments were truly heart-warming and appreciated!  
As promised, here is the last chapter – quite a bit longer than the other one.  
No warnings aside from the fact that English isn't my first language.

I hope you'll enjoy this, and please review!

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

England was in a daze as he stormed out of the house, his legs automatically carrying him towards the tree he had previously stumbled upon listening to America's cries. All he could focus on was the memory of Canada's frame huddled on the ground. He couldn't understand how he had dismissed his injuries – the child has been curled up on himself, unmoving, his skin had been so pale… _how_ could England have not realized that he was hurt?

 _Because you were focused on Alfred, who was crying, and you forgot about anything else._

The brutal truth of the thought wasn't a sufficient justification. If anything, it made the matter worse. Theoretically, England knew that Canada was quieter than America, that it was harder for the second colony to express his needs – but England always forgot to act accordingly. His stomach twisted painfully, he had to swallow down the bile at the back of his throat.

"Is Mattie going to be all right?"

England started as the small voice disrupted his train of thoughts, prompting him to cast a glance behind his shoulders. America was trotting behind him, uncaring of the torn tunic that had slid down his shoulder, his still red eyes huge on his uncharacteristically pale skin.

England's mind automatically went back to Canada's ashen face.

 _'I have no idea. Because I left him alone and didn't even check,'_ would have been the truthful answer, but it wasn't one England could offer America – the only child he hadn't betrayed, whose eyes still looked full of trust as he waited for his reply.

"Of course he is, love. We just need to take care of him," he answered with a fake smile, trying to ignore the unbearable weight at the bottom of his stomach.

England slowed down for a single moment to let America catch up with him, then he swiftly picked up the child and held him against his chest. He had been intentioned to leave America inside the safety of the house, but now that the child was beside him, England couldn't let him run, in his concern, he might trip and get hurt… England couldn't have borne that, he could feel his heart threatening to burst at the mere thought.

America didn't protest. He curled up against England's chest as his older brother ran and grabbed his shirt, the tense grip conveying all his perturbation. England could feel the child hold his breath against his chest, but he to refuse to think about the implications, or he would break down – instead, he forced his legs to move faster.

When he reached the tree, England was out of breath and dizzy. The panic eating at his mind felt like a déjà vu. He almost didn't register as he crouched down to let America free, his ringing ears barely caught the high-pitched cry of _"Mattie!"_.

All England could focus on was the child right in front of him, curled into a ball and clutching his left shoulder. He hadn't moved from the position England had left him, but his eyes were closed on his sickly wan face. His bear companion was right next to him, but he wasn't a concern of England's.

"Matthew!" he gasped, holding his arms out to the child as took a step closer.

His advance was suddenly halted by a menacing growl. Kumajiro stepped in front of his owner, showing his bare teeth to America and England.

"Kuma! Let us pass, Mattie's hurt!" Alfred protested.

The bear only growled louder, his body stiffening. Behind him, Canada stirred, alerted by the sound.

England cautiously knelt in front of Kumajiro, swallowing to try and keep the panic from seeping through his voice.

"Kumajiro, you must be scared because Canada is hurt, aren't you?" The bear could feel Canada's pain just like America had, probably. "I'm here to help. But to do so, I need to see Canada, I need to take him back to the house. Please, let me get to him."

England's eyes kept darting to Canada's frame, worryingly still behind the bear. While he could probably forcefully remove Kumajiro, that wouldn't be the best way to keep Canada calm.

The bear let out a sound between a scoff and a growl, his blazing black eyes fixed on England.

"If you want to help, why didn't you do it before? You left him alone instead. How can you help him if you hurt him?"

The bear's accusatory words felt like he had stomped right on England's chest, his eyes were scorching flames. England's mouth was frozen, his brain couldn't come up with words to counter that accusation – because it was a painfully true one.

America whimpered at his right, suddenly tearing England away from his self-commiseration. He took a deep breath, lowering his head in surrender.

"I know. I know I have hurt him, and words will never be enough to amend to this. But please, I beg you to let me through. You will have the time to berate me as much as you want later, but now, taking care of Matthew is more important."

England held his breath as he waited for Kumajiro's answer.

The voice that tore the silence, however, was much softer and insecure, almost trembling.

"Mr England?"

England abruptly raised his head as Canada stirred, blinking. The pain and confusion filling the child's eyes reached England's chest like a stab.

"Mr England, you came back?"

The child's words were tearing England's heart into pieces, but he did his best to offer Canada a soft smile.

"Of course I came back."

"It was just a mistake, Mattie!" America added helpfully, "I couldn't tell it wasn't me who was hurting, at first…"

England barely registered his word, his undivided attention taken by Canada. The small child blinked in his confusion, but the glimmer of hope that gave alertness to his glazed eyes was unmistakable.

"It thought it was Alfred who was hurt, Matthew." The admission cost England all his self-restraint, but he knew that it was needed. "That's why I took him away, leaving you here because I thought you were simply scared, as you weren't crying."

The excuse sounded pathetic even to England's how ears.

At loss of words, Canada tried to shift, only to stop as a grimace warped his features.

"Don't move! Can you tell me where you are hurt?" England urged him.

He placed a hand on America's shoulder as the child fidgeted, trying to prevent him from reaching Canada and starling Kumajiro, but the same trepidation tensed his nerves.

"I… I think it's my shoulder. It hurts real real bad," Canada answered in a half-sob, his eyes finally welling with tears.

Swallowing down the painful lump in his throat, England nodded.

"I have to look at it. Don't try to move. Can I come to you?"

At Canada's small nod, Kumajiro finally moved to a side, even if he still addressed a small growl at England when he stepped closer to Canada. England did his best to ignore it as he finally wrapped his hands around the small body and hoisted it in his arms as carefully as he could, shushing the child when he whimpered.

With America trotting at his side and Kumajiro silently following behind them, England started heading back to the house, hyperaware of the weight of Canada's body in his arms. The child didn't let out a single sound, but he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head against England's shoulder, pain lacing his tight features.

"Mattie? Mattie, I'm so sorry…" America mumbled a couple of times.

He fell silent after his brother failed to answer, and England himself wasn't feeling up to tackling the issue, he could hardly think straight. He simply cradled the small body closer to his chest when a suppressed half-sob bubbled up Canada's throat.

When they finally reached the house, England took small consolation in the fact all the medical supplies were already laid out on the table, where he gently deposited Canada's trembling form.

The boy's eyes were closed, his breath coming out in rapid gasps and his forehead drenched in cold sweat. When England called him, Canada's eyelids fluttered open, but he didn't speak, all that went past his lips was a whimper that tore England's heart to pieces. He would have wanted nothing more than hug the child and apologize over and over, but he knew that it wasn't the right moment.

"Let's see your shoulder, Matthew," he said instead, fighting to keep his voice even.

England gently wrapped his fingers around the child's small ones, noticing how they trembled as he pried them away.

Canada let out a high-pitched whine, his eyes filling with tears as they looked pleadingly up to England.

 _"Non, non! Arrêtez! Ça fait mal…"_

Canada's feeble plead was followed short by a yelp from America and a growl from Kumajiro.

"All right, all right," England murmured soothingly as he retracted his hands, his heart racing. "No more of this."

His stomach flipped as his eyes landed on one of the dark bottles he had previously deposited on the table. _Laudanum_. The fact that a child so young would need a pain reliever spelt out on its own how wrong the entire situation was, but England also knew that he needed Canada to be compliant if he wanted to have a proper examination of his shoulder.

After a gentle caress to Canada's soft but sweaty hair, England took out a spoon and filled it with the thick dark brown liquid that spread a strong smell of alcohol around them. Canada grimaced when the spoon was placed in front of his lips.

"It probably isn't going to taste good," England admitted, "But it will make you feel better, poppet."

That seemed to convince Canada to open his lips and accept the spoon. The child coughed immediately after, squeezing his eyes and recoiling, but he swallowed all the liquid.

"Good, good. It's going to be all right now," England murmured, stroking the Canada's hair as he waited for the laudanum to take effect.

His other hand went to America's head when the child pressed himself against his leg, seeking comfort. At loss of words, England started slowly humming the tune he used for the children's lullabies. Both colonies relaxed under his hands, and after a bit, Canada's eyes started growing hazy and his hitched breathing slowed down to a regular pattern.

"That's it, love," England whispered encouragingly, "You're doing wonderfully."

This time, when his hands went to Canada's shoulder, the child didn't oppose any resistance, abandoning his boneless body to England's prying fingers. Only a small whimper seeped through his lips as the hand clutching his shoulder was gently removed to fall limply on his lap.

Just like he had done with America, England tore off the tunic – but this time, the reason he found the breath blocked in his throat was a completely different one. Canada's shoulder was a horribly swollen mass of red and purple, no trace was left of his white skin. Even worse, the mere sight was enough to confirm a fracture. England's hands were trembling as they hovered over the injury, the blood hammering in his ears as the gut-wrenching knowledge of what he had to do settled in his stomach. He took a deep breath, forcefully banning the panic to a corner of his mind and commanding his hands to stay still.

"I'm so sorry, love," he murmured, but Canada only reacted with a small whine when England's fingers started prodding his shoulder.

A corner of England's brain wanted to feel grateful for the fact the laudanum was doing exactly what it had promised to, but the unsettling sight of that dazed look in Canada's eyes only increased the uneasiness. Such a young colony should have never needed something as strong as laudanum in the first place.

England's chest was so tight that he could barely breathe, yet he forced himself to divert his eyes from Canada's face and ignore America's movements at his side, focusing all his attention on his examination before the child could get back some feeling.

The broken bone ends felt misaligned under England's fingers. Beads of sweat cropped up his forehead as he carefully manoeuvred around Canada's shoulder to set them back in place, but the child didn't react with anything more than a mewled whimper. By the time England had finished wrapping up the shoulder so it could remain still and heal, Canada hadn't uttered a single word and his dull, drooping eyes were devoid of tears.

England took his chance for a careful examination of the child's body, but there weren't other serious injuries aside from multiple bruises and scratches littering the pale skin.

England finally let his hand fall to a side and closed his eyes to try and regain control of himself, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

"How's Mattie?" America asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

England turned to see him sitting on the ground, nestled against Kumajiro's side, a serious expression darkening his features.

In spite of the exhaustion, England managed to summon a soft smile to reassure the child. Lying probably wasn't wise, seeing how America was apparently able of sensing his brother's distress, but he could avoid being too detailed.

"There are some broken bones in his shoulder, but I've set and immobilized them, so they will heal completely. It will take two weeks at most, then he'll be as good as new."

England wasn't truly sure of that, he had never seen a colony being badly injured. He only knew that it was going to take longer than it would for himself.

America nodded solemnly, keeping his jaw rigid in a futile attempt of hiding the trembling of his lower lip. England didn't know how to soothe him.

"Come on, I'll take him to bed," he declared instead with a tired sigh as he carefully hoisted Canada into his arms.

The child barely mumbled at the motion, but he didn't offer any other reaction. Was that the reaction to the laudanum? England himself had been administered it after some bad injuries and his memories of those times were hazy and muffled, but seeing that effect on such a young child was plainly _wrong_.

Setting aside all his concerns, England walked to his bedroom and deposited Canada's limp form in the middle of the bed before wrapping it in two blankets.

"Here?" America asked, hesitantly walking closer.

"I want to keep an eye on him. And it's not the first time you two sleep here, isn't it? It won't be any different."

After what had happened, England couldn't bear the thought of Canada potentially waking up alone in a dark room, as scared as he had been in the woods. Even if he wasn't sure that his presence would truly be welcome, after his mistake…

Trying to shake off the uneasiness, England turned his head to America to find the child fidgeting next to the bed. When his eyes focused on America's knees, another pang of guilt flared up in his stomach.

"I've done everything I could for Matthew. Now, let me have a look at your knees," he declared softly, kneeling to be at America's level.

Much to his surprise, the child shook his head.

"It's fine. They're already healing, anyway."

America was right, such superficial injuries were quick to heal for a nation. The thought didn't make England feel any better, and neither did America's downcast eyes and uncharacteristically quiet voice, hitting England like a punch in the chest with another reminder of what an inadequate caretaker he was.

 _Will I ever do something right?_

The gloomy thoughts pressing on England's brain were sapping away all his strength, he wanted nothing but to lie down and sleep for an entire week. Maybe, he would forget about the guilt constricting his chest, then.

But, of course, it wasn't anything more than wishful thinking. In spite of how long the day had felt, the sun wasn't even set yet, England still had many other matters to attend.

"Are you hungry?" he asked America, remembering that the child hadn't eaten anything since lunch and his appetite was usually anything but meagre.

America hesitated a moment before raising his head, confusion shining in his widened eyes.

"And what about Mattie?"

"I doubt he feels like eating right now," England answered, casting another glance at the small frame nestled in the middle of the bed. "But you should have dinner. I'll just fetch something from the kitchen, it won't take more than a minute, then we can all have dinner here. Does it sound good?"

 _'All'_ probably amounted to America alone, England's stomach was clenched shut, but at the child's hesitant nod England strode off the room, trying his best not to think about anything but the most compelling actions, his mind weighted down by the knowledge of how careful he had to be: he had already made a horrid mistake. No matter how worried he was for Canada, England couldn't forget about America, either, or he would be back to the same situation.

Fortunately, England had prepared some meat pie for lunch and he wouldn't have to cook again… some added bread and cherry pie he had bought at the village before getting to the children would be enough for America's dinner.

England has just gathered the food on a wooden tray when a sudden cry made him start.

"Arthur!"

England's blood ran cold at the note of panic in America's voice. He immediately rushed back to the bedroom, the tray still clutched in his hands only because putting it down would have meant wasting some other precious moments.

"Alfred? Alfred, what's wrong?" he shouted as he ran.

This time, his mind immediately identified the hollow feeling in his gut as America's terror. At the doorway, England's eyes automatically landed on the edge of the bed, his stomach lurching. Canada was hunched over, his body shaking with heaves. America was right next to him, clutching his brother's sane arm as he alternated between calling Canada's and England's names. A corner of England's brain acknowledged Kumajro on the ground, holding a chamber pot that had prevented Canada from dirtying the floor. England might have even felt grateful, if it hadn't been for the ball of horror that welled up in his chest, drowning any other feeling.

"Matthew!" he cried out, almost letting the tray drop as he dashed to the child's side.

America stepped back when England forcefully took hold of Canada's body, rubbing his back and keeping the injured arm pressed against the child's chest to avoid it being jostled. A litany of useless words of comfort England was only partially aware of spewed from his lips.

Canada looked hardly cognizant of what was happening, but he was sobbing among the heaves, each sound stabbing England's chest deeper and deeper.

While his hands automatically worked to support the child, England's mind was reeling from the scare, it took him some unbearably long moments to put together what had happened.

 _It had to be the laudanum. I gave him too much._

England berated himself for not checking Canada's reaction to it before administering the full dose. While he himself had never had issues, he knew of people reacting badly to laudanum. There was no excuse for forgetting about it.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for Canada to settle down. Soft sobs still seeped through his lips and tears ran down his ashen cheeks, but the child's eyes were glassy, he didn't look truly aware of what was happening. Only scared.

England wiped Canada's face with a towel before pressing him to his chest.

"It's all right, love. It's over now," he murmured sweetly, hoping that his words would be heard through the haze enveloping his colony's mind.

England was lying, of course. Canada's reaction meant that he could no longer use laudanum to soothe the child's pain. Thankfully, he had already set his shoulder, but the injury was severe, it was probably going to hurt for another couple of days at least. Canada might still stomach Willow bark, but it wasn't nearly as strong.

In spite of everything, England couldn't show any of his insecurities. He kept cradling Canada to his chest, gently humming a lullaby, until the child's breathing slowed down to a normal rate. England's heart-rate followed short, but the cold grip around his chest never loosened. The feeling of guilt only increased when England tried to lower Canada on the bed only for the child to struggle slightly, his healthy hand blindly groping England's sleeve.

 _"Ne me laisse pas seul,"_ the child slurred. **(Don't leave me alone)**

"I won't. I'm right here," England promised, his voice trembling in spite of his best effort.

He was aware of how hollow his words sounded, after what had happened, but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and kept holding Canada's hand until he was sure the child had slid into a full sleep.

Only then, England turned to America, who had been sitting worryingly still and quiet the entire time, with his eyes stubbornly trained on the clenched fists in his lap. England could still feel the lingering tendrils of his panic.

"Alfred, love? Matthew is going to be all right. He reacted badly to the medicine, but it's over now. He just needs some rest – we all do. I know it's early, but it has been a long day. Why don't you eat your dinner and then come to lie down next to your brother? Everything will be better, tomorrow."

America pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. He spared a quick glance at England before sliding down to retrieve the tray with his food, but, instead of heading back to the bed, he started walking towards the door.

"I'll go to my room," he declared in a small voice, his shoulders tensed in determination. "I'm fine. I don't need to stay here."

The words reached England like a punch in the gut. He wanted to call back America, but he found himself frozen, his eyes glued to child's back.

America was angry at him. It was to be expected, after all, because of England's negligence, his brother was hurt… but the realization didn't hurt any less.

 _How am I ever going to fix everything?_

England wasn't sure that he could. Shaking his head, he forced himself to turn his eyes from the door. He couldn't bear to look at Canada, either, his form looked minuscule in the middle of the bed, stirring unpleasant feelings, so England just let his eyes roam over the room, not truly taking anything in until they fell on the chamber pot at the feet of the bed. That needed cleaning.

When he tried gathering the strength to stand up, however, England found himself frozen in the motion.

"Are you just going to stay here and do nothing?" a small voice snapped.

England turned, startled, realizing only at that moment that Kumajiro had climbed up next to his owner and was staring at him.

"I… Of course not," England stammered, "I just don't want to leave Matthew alone after this, if he felt sick again…"

"I'll stay," Kumajiro declared, his black eyes fixed on England's form, judging him. "He's not going to be alone. Washing a pot won't take much longer than preparing dinner."

England flinched at the clear note of accusation in Kumajiro's words. He could just have left the conversation there, he shouldn't have to explain himself to a _bear_ , of all things, but England found the words spilling from his lips.

"It's not the same," he had to admit through gritted teeth, "Alfred was here before. I could feel his distress, so I came back as soon as I felt something wrong. But… I cannot feel Matthew the same way."

The admission brought a sour taste to England's mouth as he suddenly realized that it was the same reason he had been so focused on America's pain and dismissed Canada's.

"Alfred and I share a different bond. Even if we don't share blood ties, he was originally born out of my people, so I can sometimes feel him as a part of me – especially if there's something wrong. But Matthew is different. He was born out of French people, I conquered him only later. He's not… _mine_ in the same way."

The realization only doubled the weight pressing down on England's chest, breathing was almost physically painful. There was no excuse for how he had neglected Canada, he should have known better. He _had_ known. Even France had urged him to be more careful, and, for how much England pretended not to listen to him, he _had_ treasured his words, in the beginning. But he had eventually forgotten. Canada's timid and silent nature didn't help England to focus on him, but he knew that it was no excuse: Canada was merely a small colony, a child. England was the one responsible for him. He should have known better. His actions were unforgivable.

And Kumajiro was still staring at him, his black, expressionless eyes seemed to lay England's soul bare.

"And what are you going to do, now?" the bear challenged him, "Are you going to try to do better and fix this, or are you going to be too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

The bear's words hit England like a slap.

"I'm not—"

Kumajiro harrumphed.

"You made a mistake. A horrible mistake. Now you can either wallow in your guilt and not change anything, or accept it, move on, and try to do better."

After that, Kumajiro jumped off the bed, took the dirty chamber pot and scurried away, leaving England gaping at him.

After what felt like an eternity, England managed to shake himself and turned to Canada's sleeping figure. He certainly hadn't been expecting a life-lesson from a talking bear cub, of all things, and yet, there he was.

"I don't have much choice, do I?" England mused as he observed the slow rise and fall of Canada's chest under the blankets.

Now, the child's face was slack, completely devoid of pain.

The guilt was still pulsing in England's chest, a painful reminder of his mistake, but Canada deserved England's best efforts, not empty apologies. And so did America, once he would get over his rage and talk to England again.

Sighing, England threaded his fingers through Canada's soft hair as a thunder rumbled in the distance. He wasn't sure that he could do it. But he was the closest thing to a guardian or parent his colonies had and the only one who could cover that role, so he had to at least try.

* * *

A harsh light suddenly filled the room, the furniture casting ominous shadows against the walls. A deafening thunder followed short, making the bed vibrate with its roar.

America whimpered and he curled himself tighter under the blankets, his heart hammering. Tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let them fall.

 _'I'll be fine. Everything will be fine,'_ America kept telling himself, swallowing down the whimper that bubbled up his throat as another lightning soared in the sky, visible even through the blankets.

It wasn't fine.

What had started as a slow, comforting drizzle hitting the wood had since turned into a storm that had woken up America and was now keeping the child firmly into the grip of panic, his pulse racing.

America didn't like storms. They were too loud, too dangerous, and their clamour hid any other noise that could have identified danger. America hated that.

Even more, he hated the idea of having a possible source of comfort so close to him, yet being unable to reach it.

America wanted England.

When there was a storm, England would let the child sleep in his own bed, tucked against his chest, and the rain would sound fainter, the thunders less scary.

America curled up tighter on himself, clenching his fists as his breathing hitched.

He couldn't call England. He had promised himself that he wouldn't, at least this time. No matter how scary it got, America was going to endure it. Even when he couldn't restrain himself anymore and his fear erupted in tears streaming down his face, America refused to call out for England, curling his trembling body into a tighter ball.

Because this time, America didn't deserve England's comfort.

When the door was suddenly slammed open, America hated himself for the wave of relief that made his body automatically relax at the familiar voice calling out his name.

"Go away!" he sobbed, "I'm fine, go away!"

England halted at the door before taking a hesitant step in.

"Alfred, you're crying," he said in a tender voice that made America's chest clench. "I know that storms scare you. You can sleep with me and Matthew, love."

America's chest ached with longing, but England's words reminded him why he _had_ to be strong. He forced himself to shake his head and buried his body deeper under the blankets.

"No, go away!"

 _Go back to Mattie._

In his egoism, America had claimed England's attention for himself far too many times – and now, as a direct result of that, his brother was suffering, plagued by the worst pain America could have ever imagined.

There was a moment of silence, then America's mattress shifted under England's added weight. A gentle hand landed on the child's shoulder.

"Poppet, I know that you're angry at me."

Any remark died down in America's throat at the unexpected words, the surprise tying his tongue.

"I know. And you have every right to be, I understand this. No apology will ever be enough—"

"But I'm not."

America automatically turned to face England, his determination washed away by the confusion. The regret in England's voice was foreign, almost more unsettling than the storm raging outside.

England's eyebrows rose in bafflement.

"Aren't you upset because I left Matthew alone in the woods?"

Pain pierced America's chest, stealing the air away from his lungs.

"B—but…" he whimpered, tears once again gathering in his eyes, "That… that was my fault! If I hadn't cried so much, you would have taken care of Mattie, not me!"

England straightened up, his eyes widening for a moment before his expression softened.

"Oh, no," he murmured, shaking his head. "You two can feel each other emotions, can't you? It isn't your fault. You simply didn't recognize that the pain was coming from Matthew and not from you. But I… I should have known better."

England's words made warmth blossom in America's chest with their sincerity. The child longed to launch himself into his brother's arms and sob until exhaustion washed away all the pain and fear.

But he couldn't, because, even if England didn't blame America for that part, he still didn't know the full story. The tears were ready to spill over, America's body was shaking.

"B—but… It _was_ my fault! Mattie didn't want to c—climb the tree, and he told me to be ca—careful, but I didn't l—listen to him and I mo—mocked him so he w—would be quicker but instead he f—fell and n—now he's hurt! So it _is_ my fault and you should just leave me alone!"

 _Here it is._

America burst into tears, unable to restrain himself any longer. Now England was going to hate him, but America knew that he deserved it. At least, England would finally focus on Canada, just as he should have done from the beginning.

 _'I'm so sorry,'_ America thought desperately, but the bond between him and his brother had been frighteningly faint and dull since Canada had been administered that foul-smelling medicine.

Being left alone and scared would be his well-deserved punishment.

Instead, after a soft gasp, strong hands pressed America's body against England's warm shirt.

"Oh, no," England murmured, "It was an accident, poppet. Yes, you shouldn't have tried to climb the tree or press Matthew to do so, but… I don't even think you need any scolding, at this point. I think it's quite clear why I had told you not to climb the tree, isn't it? And either way, you don't deserve to be left alone and scared just because you made a mistake."

"But Mattie's hurt!" America wailed, raising his tear-filled eyes to look at England.

There was no anger written in his brother's features, only regret shone in his eyes.

"He is. And that's where you'll learn not to do something like this again. However, you didn't physically force your brother to follow you, in the end, it was his decision. He made a mistake as well, as we all do. You clearly didn't mean to hurt Matthew, I will never think about blaming you for his injuries. I can only blame you for your disobedience."

America wanted to believe England more than anything else. He wanted to be held by his older brother and be at Canada's side again. But he couldn't erase from his memories Canada's panicked-filled eyes, the sudden explosion of pain.

"B—but…"

"Alfred." In spite of his gentle voice, England's intonation was serious, almost solemn. "The mere fact that you place such a heavy blame on yourself show that you didn't have bad intentions. Yes, what happened was horrible, but it wasn't your fault. You're still a child, you're still learning. Making mistakes is normal, as long as you learn from them – and your reaction shows that you have. Now, all you have to do is to go forward with what you have learned. For example, you can be careful around Canada for the next few days and help him until he's healed. And now, you can come back with me and him, you don't have to stay here and be scared."

America hadn't thought it would have been so easy. Part of him couldn't help but think that it wasn't _fair_ – but England didn't lie. And if England said that America could be forgiven, maybe it was true.

The child let his body slump against England's chest, trembling with exhaustion.

England pressed a gentle kiss to his head, and tightened his hold when a thunder made America yelp.

"It's all right, love. It's going to be all right."

America tightened his fists around the fabric of England's shirt as the older nation rose to his feet, cradling him to his chest.

As England started humming the comforting tune of his favourite lullaby, the grip around America's chest finally loosened. He was still terrified, but he trusted England, and that was enough for now. As soon as Canada was awake, he was going to work on the rest.

* * *

Canada had been feeling good, before. Wonderful, even. There was a pleasant layer of wool around his mind that prevented him from thinking, leaving him suspended in a soothing void where he didn't have to feel his body or worry about anything. As the time went by, however, the layer started thinning more and more until the what had first been a faint throbbing in Canada's left shoulder rose to a pulsing pain that took over his entire body, invading all his senses.

A whimper was torn from his lips.

At the same time, a gentle voice reached Canada through the sea of mud, accompanied by fingers threading through his hair before brushing back his bangs.

"Matthew?"

Canada pried his eyes open, urged by the familiar voice. After some blinking, the blurred colours in front of him morphed into England's face, that was creased in concern.

"Mr England?" the child asked groggily.

"Don't move," was the answer, and at the same time, a high-pitched "Mattie!" reached the child's ears.

The oddly scared intonation of America's voice brought Canada back to complete alertness, making the memories rush back to him. He gasped, his eyes wildly looking around.

He remembered an awful, all-consuming pain his shoulder, the grass pressing against his cheek – then, everything became hazy. Canada wasn't in the woods anymore, however, but lying in the middle of England's bed, under a soft blanket. His shoulder was still hurting fiercely, but not as bad as right after the fall, and it was immobilized by heavy bandages.

"You broke your clavicle, I had to set it," England explained, his warm hand resting on Canada's cheek, "It has been almost a day since then. It's going to be all right."

The shoulder, however, hadn't been Canada's main concern. His eyes darted back and forth from England's to America's concerned faces as the realization slowly settled into him with a wave of warmth.

"You… you came," Canada stammered, his voice hitching, "It wasn't only a dream…"

England's voice and hands were hazy, the last clear memory Canada had was being left behind. But it hadn't lasted. The sudden warmth blossoming in his chest brought tears to Canada's eyes.

England's expression softened, but his eyes were full of sadness as his thumb brushed away the tears.

He took a deep breath, as if unsure of what to say, but the distress was clearly written in the lines of his face. As the uneasiness spread across his stomach, Canada shifted, but a gasp was torn from his lips when the pain suddenly flared up in his shoulder, filling his vision with black spots.

England jumped to his feet at the same moment, the creases on his forehead growing deeper.

"Oh, bloody hell…" there was something wildly uncontrolled in the way his voice and his hands were trembling, but England clenched them into fists and took a deep breath, straightening up. "Of course, it hurts. I… Matthew, I need to go downstairs and prepare something against the pain, but I'll be back. You don't move. Alfred and Kumajiro are with you, send one of them after me if you need anything."

England waited for Canada's small nod to dash away, leaving his colonies alone with the bear, who simply offered comfort by pressing himself against Canada's feet. Some moments of silence passed before the shifting of the mattress preannounced America coming closer. The child's eyes were impossibly wide as he looked at Canada, their usual mirth replaced by dejection.

"Mattie, I'm so sorry," he started in an unusually soft voice, "I really am. I should have listened to you, you were right… and instead, I forced you to climb the tree and you got hurt. I'm so, so sorry. It's okay if you're angry at me, you can yell at me as much as you want and I won't complain. I shouldn't have forced you."

Canada would have loved to be angry at America, and he _had_ been annoyed at his carelessness so many times… but his brother looked earnestly crushed, his shoulders were hunched over and his eyes dull. Even worse, the tears prickling at the corners made Canada's stomach twist.

For how much he complained about America, that silent, downcast child wasn't his brother. The vitality was one of the most integral parts of him. And seeing how, for once, America was taking responsibility for his actions, Canada didn't have it in himself to be angry at him.

"It's all right," he murmured, "You didn't want me to get hurt. And I caved in and followed you up the tree, so it's my fault too."

"It's still wrong…"

America shook his head before lying down at Canada's right side and squeezing his hand.

"I promise I'll be more careful next time, Mattie. And… I don't think you're a wimp. You're my brother and I love playing with you, and I promise I'll take care of you better from now on."

Canada almost couldn't believe his ears, but America's eyes were looking straight at him, as earnest and only he could be. A sudden spark of joy surged in Canada's chest, making his lips curl into a smile.

"I like playing with you, too. And it's forgiven."

The silence that fell after that was entirely comfortable. It might have even lulled Canada's exhausted mind to sleep, if it hadn't been for the pain in shoulder preventing him from completely slipping into unconsciousness.

Canada couldn't have said how much time had passed when England's careful steps announced his return.

"I'm sorry for taking so long," England said as he sat down on the bed, careful not spill the liquid inside a bowl in his hands. "This had to be prepared, but I didn't want to leave you alone before."

England's words made Canada's heart skip a beat. The more England talked, the more it looked like he truly regretted leaving Canada alone.

The child accepted England's help to rise to a sitting position, biting down a cry of pain when his shoulder was jostled. He placed his healthy hand over England's bigger one as his caretaker pressed the wooden bowl to his lips and drank as much of the scalding liquid as could before his stomach started feeling queasy, then he gently pushed England's hand away.

"This isn't very strong, but it should at least numb the pain a bit," England explained, "Unfortunately, you reacted quite badly to the stronger pain reliever I gave you."

Canada couldn't recall anything, but America's fervent nod told him that England wasn't exaggerating.

"It's okay," he murmured, offering a small smile at England.

England's expression didn't soften. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before looking again at Canada.

"Nothing about this is okay. Matthew, I want you to know that I'm terribly sorry for what happened. There are no words to express how sorry I am, and no words that could be enough, either. But… you _need_ to know that it wasn't intentional. I… I heard America cry while you were silent, and that led me to mistakenly believe that he was the one hurt and you were just in shock because of the scare, instead."

Canada's stomach made a summersault at England's words. _A mistake._ England hadn't knowingly neglected him, it had all been a misunderstanding. Canada's head was spinning, a corner of his mind telling him that he was dreaming, but England went on talking.

"There are no excuses for that, I'm fully aware. Yet, I cannot undo what has been done. I can only promise that this is never going to happen again."

The guilt glimmering in England's eyes didn't match the seed of warmth his words had planted inside Canada's chest.

"Mr England, it's okay," the child declared, as firmly as he could manage. "You didn't do it on purpose. Alfred and I feel each other's pain, but I don't think we ever said that. So, you couldn't know. And you came back, in the end. This is what matters."

Canada knew that he wasn't the same as America, in England's eyes. For how much it hurt, he had come to accept it. However, England had just proved that he wasn't completely forgotten, and so had America's panic. Canada was still cared for.

And, as England gently ruffled his hair and America squeezed his hand, Canada couldn't help but think that he didn't truly have anything to complain about. He offered his brothers a soft smile and let himself hope that, as soon as England and America recovered from the shock and he from the injuries, everything would improve for the best. Either way, Canada swore to himself that he wasn't going to forget the fondness England and America had just displayed for him.

 **(word count: 7,268)**

* * *

 **Notes:**

It's a headcanon of mine that Canada reverts to French when he's confused or delirious (or simply half-asleep, too). I don't know French, but I found the sentences I was using through google (not translate, I mean that I wrote the entire sentence on google and found some matches in forums) so they should be all right.

As far as I know, Laudanum started being used as a pain reliever around the XV century, so I think it would be plausible for England to have it. I hope so, at least. I don't actually know how it smells, but it's a tincture made of alcohol and opium. Any time I've prepared a syrup containing alcohol the smell of alcohol was the prevalent one, so I went with it.  
A side effect of morphine (the main active ingredient of opium) is vomiting, that's what happened to Canada.  
Willow bark, instead, contains salicylic acid, that is chemically similar to acetylsalicylic acid (the active ingredient of Aspirin). I've seen records of it being used as a pain reliever and treatment against fever in colonial times.

As a last note, I want to say that England wasn't meant to be a villain in this story – simply a person who, in a moment of great stress, made a mistake (that was influenced by his stronger connection to America, too). For how tragic they can be, mistakes happen, they don't automatically turn the person who made them into an awful one. I hope I have been able to convey it better with this chapter.

That said, I truly hope this short story has brought you some enjoyment!


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